Paranoia
by Celtic Mysteria
Summary: Their mother's death unhinged Gretel and destroyed their father. When Hansel and Gretel overhear their parents' plot to abandon them, it proves to be the final straw in tearing apart Gretel's mental stability...
1. Part One: The Village

It was a bitterly cold winter. The wind howled through the streets of Kleindorf, making the rickety wooden buildings creak with a cacophony of sound that echoed through the little village. Snow coated the roofs, but it would soon be too cold even for snow. The narrow streets were treacherous with ice, so that even the brave dared not venture from their houses without a stick with which to balance.

At the edge of the village there was a smaller house, separate from the others. It was there that lived the woodcutter and his family: two children, a boy and girl, and their stepmother. The woodcutter's family was well acquainted with freezing winters and the pangs of hunger that it brought - all save the stepmother. She had come from a wealthy family, and had never experienced famine before. The pain in her stomach was as foreign to her as the warm lands to the south, where it was rumoured that the sun blazed even in the depths of winter. This new sensation brought out the darkness within her, and as the months passed it turned her as bitter as the plants that hunger forced her to eat.

She resented the woodcutter. He had promised her a family, a cosy life filled with prosperity, fine clothes and children. He would build them a pretty little cottage, he swore, a little wooden one filled with light and laughter and warmth. Honeysuckle that would trail down the walls, and a beautiful garden for her to tend.

Some cottage. It was little more than a shack, and icicles hung threateningly above her even when indoors. There was no warmth - the wind whistled through the cracks in the walls and across the barren floors. There was no light, only the tiny stump of a candle that guttered and extinguished with the merest hint of a breeze. There was no laughter - her stepchildren were sombre creatures, and seldom engaged in any form of frivolity. Their mother's death had clearly affected them deeply, and they made no secret of their objection to her replacement.

At first she had pitied them: they had watched their mother weaken and die, they would doubtless be reluctant to have a new mother. But the coldness that was beginning to grip the stepmother's soul turned her empathy to fury. Idiot children, cold and unwelcoming. Did they not see how she laboured to please them? Her husband, her pathetic fool of a husband, was little better. He clearly cared more for them than he did for her. She would fix that.

If there was some way to remove them from the scene, if there was some way to focus his world on her, if there was some way to put more food in her empty stomach, she would find it.

And she did.

* * *

><p>"Friedrich, my husband." began the stepmother, smiling sweetly at the man she had once loved. He turned his eyes to her, but they were devoid of any emotion. Fatigue and poverty had emptied them of anything that might endear him to her.<p>

"Look at us. We barely speak any more. Where has the joy gone from your soul?" she said, sweeping forward to put her hands on his cheeks. He did not respond, earning a long sigh from his wife. She smiled at him sympathetically. "You do not know? Well I will tell you where. It departed with this hunger, concealed by the ice that makes your skin so very cold to the touch. My poor, sweet husband-"

"What do you want, Ilse?" the woodcutter asked abruptly. "You have never treated me kindly since the day we were married. Why this sudden gentleness?"

For one fleeting instant, the stepmother's eyes narrowed, but she checked herself and widened them innocently, allowing her lips to curve softly upwards.

"I have realised the source of our misery, my love."

His face remained blank.

"We have too many mouths to feed. Too many lives to sustain." she paused at the stirring of emotion in his eyes, then continued "The stress is driving a stake between us. It is the children, my love. The children are draining us of our happiness."

At this, the woodcutter's face took on some expression.

"What are you saying, Ilse?" he said sharply, his shoulders straightening from the slump they had reverted to.

"If we were to free ourselves from them, we could be happy again. There would be more food, more money - think how much better our lives would be!"

"Are you suggesting we abandon my children?"

"I am suggesting we allow them to make their own way in this world."

"Abandonment."

"Independence."

"How will they survive this weather?"

"We could leave them in the woods. It is sheltered from the snow in there, and there will be no shortage of firewood. They could build a little shelter to last the winter, then carry on their way."

Her husband's eyes widened and he seemed speechless for a moment.

"They are children! We cannot leave them at the mercy of this fiendish weather!"

The stepmother's face hardened as it always did when she was crossed.

"Then you would have me perish as did your last wife? Is that why she is now entombed beneath the soil? Because you would not do what was necessary to provide for her?"

Gone was the shock from the woodcutter's expression. In its place there was only sorrow.

"Do as I say, Friedrich, and you will no longer feel such remorse." she murmured, once again caring. By the look on his face, she knew she had found his weakness, and she seized it. "Do as I say, and you need never again know weariness or pain. Will you let me enrich our lives? Will you let me save us?"

She knew what his answer would be before he opened his mouth. With only a second of hesitation, his lips parted and formed a single word.

"Yes."

* * *

><p>"Traitor!" spat Gretel, eyes blazing. "He's betrayed us!"<p>

Her brother didn't speak. He sat in bewildered trance induced by the conversation they had just heard. Every word was perfectly audible through the thin walls of their bedroom, but he could scarcely believe the father who had raised him almost single-handedly would agree to leaving them for certain death.

"I knew that bitch would lure him away! I knew it! She lures him away from mother, and then from us!" Gretel was saying, pacing across the room with a restless anger that showed in every movement she made. "We should have gone and lived with mother when I said to!"

Still Hansel kept his lips sealed. He was perfectly aware of his sister's fragile mental state. She believed their mother to be alive and well, despite the complete impossibility of the idea.

"There is no doubt about it, we have to kill her. It's the only way we can make sure mother can return when she wants to instead of being driven away by this interfering whore."

This was nothing new to Hansel. The macabre side of Gretel's personality had been showing itself with increasing regularity since their new mother had moved in. The only thing for it was to humour her until she returned to the sweet child she had been before.

"We'll put poison in her breakfast. Yes! There is a plentiful supply of belladonna in the forest - it would take only a second to slip it into her porridge."

"So why don't we play along with their plan? They take us into the forest, and we'll be able to gather all the belladonna we need." said her brother dully, hardly expecting Gretel to acknowledge him.

"Yes!" she hissed, surprising him. "We will do that! But how do we gather the poison without Father realizing?"

"He intends to leave us there. He won't stay long enough to see us gathering. But how do we find our way back?"

So involved was Gretel in her desire for revenge, she ignored his last few words.

"For once, Hansel, your brain seems to have some use. That is what we will do! We'll follow them into the forest, and then poison her!" A cackle like that of a young witch escaped her lips. In it there was the mania that so often accompanied her words nowadays.

"We had best get our sleep. We want to make sure we get the right plants, and we can't do that if we're sleep deprived."

Gretel nodded vigorously then hurtled beneath the thin blanket of her bed. Hansel sighed, then climbed into his own bed. Gretel began snoring almost instantly, but he knew there would be no sleep for him that night. He was far too disturbed by the events of the day – and by the look in Gretel's eyes. She had devised murderous plans before, but never had he seen that look in her eyes. It was something feral, something cold and sharp. It made an icy finger stroke its way up his spine. For once he did not doubt that Gretel would enact her plan to murder their stepmother.

But still, even more overwhelming than his fear of Gretel, was his confusion at how it could be that the man who had told them stories, the man who had worked so hard chopping down trees that his fingers were constantly red and blistered from the rough wood of his axe shaft, the man who had promised never to let anything happen to them after the death of their mother, how could he agree so easily to leaving them in the forest? The world was nothing like those in fairytales - anyone who had lived in Kleindorf for any amount of time knew that. Life was a constant uphill struggle, and in Kleindorf that hill was permanently slick with ice. The forest was the steepest part of that slope. All manner of vicious beasts prowled between its towering firs, poisonous plants entwined around your feet as you moved, and there were rumoured to be demons flitting in the shadows.

His father couldn't be seriously thinking about leaving them there - could he? But then, the woodcutter had never been a great lover of jokes. When he said something, he meant it.

With a shiver, he rolled to face the wall and pulled his blanket tighter around his body. It did little to warm him - there was barely anything left of it after years of wear. It was as threadbare as the tattered shirts of his father's that he wore underneath his jerkin.

Thoughts whizzed around his head of what tomorrow would bring. Images of himself and Gretel lying emaciated in the snow found themselves at the foremost point of his imagination. Every time sleep began to embrace him, another picture of two skeletons abandoned among the trees would flicker in his vision.

Wearily, Hansel closed his eyes. This would be a long night.


	2. Part Two: The Forest

"You can eat your breakfast later, children. I wish to show you something in the woods."

The words felt like knives to Hansel. With every syllable, a dagger ripped into his chest. He glanced at Gretel, whose face was a mask of curious innocence.

"What do you want to show us father?" The question was out of his lips before he could stop it.

With only a slight pause, his father answered.

"It is a surprise."

His father looked strained - or was it simply his imagination playing cruel tricks on him? The woodcutter always looked fatigued, but had he always had that look in his eyes? Was it guilt that he saw written behind the grey irises?

Hansel couldn't be sure. It had been a long time since he had looked properly at his father's face, and he realised with a jolt that it was unfamiliar to him. It could be the way his cheekbones were so disturbingly prominent, it could be that his eye sockets were all too clearly defined.

It could be that there had never before been such self-loathing remorse in his face.

Suddenly it seemed obvious to Hansel that there was no way his father would change his mind. He had made his decision, much as he loathed it.

With a final look at Gretel, he gave a swallow and looked his father squarely in the face.

"Lead the way."

* * *

><p>Over logs and under branches, they ducked and wove between the firs in a path that would be untraceable if not for the snow.<p>

"Where are we going, father?" asked Hansel, still clinging onto the vain hope that his father might relent, that he might fall to his knees and embrace his children in remorse.

He did not.

"You will see when we get there." was all he said, not looking back.

Gretel's eyes were sweeping the path, looking for the poison she planned to put in their stepmother's food. It had still not occurred to her that they wouldn't be home to put in the poison unless she tried to remember the route home as her brother did. Hansel dreaded to think how she would act when she did come to that realisation and prayed she would not take it out on him. He did not expect his prayers to be answered though.

After many hours of walking, Hansel noted that their pace began to slow. Reluctantly, their father turned to face them.

"I will be back in a little while." he said, stumbling slightly over his words. "You children must stay here and wait for me. I will not be long."

"Father, please." Hansel said, his final plea for his father to change his mind.

The woodcutter did not meet his eyes, instead fixing his gaze on his son's chin.

"I will be back soon, children. Be good."

Awkwardly, Hansel thought, he turned and left them. There was a queasy feeling in the boy's stomach, and he sat on the roots of a tree.

"This is it then." he said, more to himself than Gretel.

"Yes. It is, isn't it?" she replied, giving a small giggle. "Finally out in the woods. Alone. Abandoned."

"You make the prospect of it sound positively cheerful." muttered Hansel.

"Oh I think it is." replied Gretel with a smile, tugging on the end of one plait. "But that's entirely a new subject of a thing altogether, don't you think brother?"

His brow furrowed in confusion.

"I'm not sure what you mean.

"That's the thing Hansel, how can anyone ever be sure of what someone else means? I might mean that which is what it isn't, or that which it is but which you think it isn't. What do you think?"

She barely paused, and he only got out one word before she interrupted him again.

"Well,-"

"Actually, it hardly matters what you think, does it?" she asked, but as he thought the question rhetorical Hansel gave no answer and Gretel continued: "After all, everyone has different opinions so my opinion in relation to your opinion is really rather more important, because it's mine and not yours and it's always important for the opinion which is mine to be mine and the most important one. And everyone should have my opinion because if I did not think my opinion the right opinion I would have a different opinion. But of course, for them my opinion is their opinion because they think of themselves as I and me and mine, and not as Gretel's. So perhaps I should simply say Gretel's opinion, and you should say Hansel's and 'mine' should be reserved for speaking about everyone's own opinions. Besides, for all I know you might be a figment of my own imagination and therefore the whole idea of opinions is invalid because we simply do not exist. Or maybe I'm the figment of your imagination - or maybe I'm a dream! Or a nightmare. Yes, that's it, I think I'm a nightmare. I come to you in the night and I haunt your dreams and I hurt you in ways you can't imagine. You think physical pain is the worst, and that you fear dying more than anything else and then you come to realise that I can torment your very head and you long for death to make the fear and pain become so all consuming that they give way into oblivion."

She finished in a blur of words and looked at him expectantly.

"Well?" she asked, and when he did not respond her face darkened. "Don't just stand there looking gormless!" she snapped. "Start looking for poison!"

Hansel bit his lip, chewing it nervously.

"But how do we give her the poison if we're in the middle of the forest?" he muttered, staring at his feet and jabbing his toe against the ground.

"Are you arguing with me?" Gretel said, voice low and dangerous.

"No…" Hansel mumbled, his voice hardly audible.

"Oh, I think you are!"

Her voice was a razor, slicing at his skin.

"I'm not, Gretel. I'm just saying…"

"Well don't just say!" shouted Gretel, striding towards him with a threatening gleam in her eyes. The sudden noise made him jump and he quivered where he sat.

"Well?" asked Gretel again.

"I'll start looking…" he mumbled obediently, scurrying around the tree.

Gretel's face relaxed.

"I thought you'd see it my way." she said amiably, and promptly took his place on the tree root.

They stayed like that for over an hour, Hansel trying to figure out which plant was belladonna and Gretel sat there watching him. Suddenly, Gretel sat bolt upright.

"Hansel…" she began, drawing out the word.

He eyed her warily.

"Yes?"

"Have you thought of how we're going to get back?"

This was it. The moment he had been dreading.

"Um…no. I haven't."

She turned to him, face expressionless, and stared for a minute.

"Idiot!" came the shout all of a sudden, an explosion of sound in his face. "Idiot boy! What's the good of poison if there's no one to use it on?" she screeched, standing and spitting into his face with the venom of her words.

"I…I don't know, Gretel." he replied, backing away slightly. A bad move.

"Don't you run from me, Hansel! Don't you dare run from me!" she spat. "You're already weak and spineless, don't make yourself any more loathsome!"

Hansel stopped.

"You really are a fool." said Gretel coldly. Her mouth twisted in a sneer. "But it was only to be expected. We always knew which of us had the brains in the family and it is not you. I don't blame you."

He relaxed, but had no time to speak before Gretel had continued.

"However, the fact is we're going to die out here. If we're lucky the cold will get us before we starve."

"I'd rather starve than freeze." Hansel said miserably.

"Don't be stupid, of course you wouldn't." his sister said, brushing him off.

"I don't really want to die either way, and I doubt you do either." he pointed out.

"No, I don't. Not really." Gretel agreed. "But I don't see what we can do. May as well sit here and wait for it."

Hansel stared. Gretel's voice was perfectly calm as she sat down on the freezing ground. She smiled up at him.

"We'll be here a while. Have a seat?"

"It's freezing down there."

"Yes, it is rather." his sister replied in a voice that could almost be described as cheerful. "But never mind."

"Gretel, get up. You'll freeze." Hansel said in what he hoped was a persuasive voice. Gretel simply sat there with a fixed smile on her face. He tugged at her arm.

An wail like that of a banshee came tumbling from her mouth. Her expression hardly changed - her mouth simply opened and unleashed that unearthly shriek. Hansel leapt back in surprise, eyes wide and mouth an 'O'. Gretel took one look at his face and started to giggle.

"Gretel…" started Hansel nervously, "Are you feeling alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" asked Gretel, still giggling.

Hansel looked at her in helpless concern.

"Gretel, please."

She remained perfectly still.

"I don't think she's going to move, boy." croaked a voice from behind them. Hansel whipped round to see a haggard old woman emerging between the trees. "Begging your pardon. Didn't mean t'make you jump." she added, seeing his shock.

"Um…no, I just…um…" burbled Hansel, vision darting between his grinning sister and the old woman.

"What're you children doing playing so far into the forest, mm?" the woman was asking. "It's far too cold t'be playing. You'll catch your death of cold."

"Our father left us here, ma'am." Hansel answered, voice returning.

"How awful of him!" Her face crumpled in concern. "You'd best come with me then, my poor children."

"We couldn't possibly, ma'am…"

"Nonsense, child. It's far too dangerous. There's wolves in the forest, and all manner of nasty creatures that will tear you up if you don't freeze first. Come with me, my boy. And your sister too."

Hansel hesitated. The thought of strangers being dangerous had long been ingrained in his brain - but, he reasoned, if they didn't go with her they were going to die anyway.

"It's very kind of you, ma'am." he said gratefully. "Come on Gretel." To his surprise, the girl moved without resistance.

"Not at all, dear boy." the woman said with a smile that was kind, if entirely lacking in teeth. "I'd never forgive myself if I let two young children freeze t'death. This way now."

She smiled at them and began walking. With only a moment's pause, Hansel followed her into the forest.


	3. Part Three: The Oven

The walk was not a long one, but Gretel refused to move at anything other than a snail's pace. Still, when they finally emerged from the dense trees, Hansel and his sister stood and gawped. The old woman, oblivious to their amazement, continued walking.

The cottage - although it was so large that the word "cottage" must be used cautiously - was made almost entirely of gingerbread - and that which was not gingerbread was made from other sugary delights. Clear sugar paned the windows, which were framed with curtains of delicately spun sugar; the door was a slab of chocolate, a striped humbug serving as a handle; the roof was tens of thousands of tiles made of nougat, gummed together with buttercream icing.

With barely a second's hesitation, the siblings leapt forward to throw themselves at the house.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you." the old woman called from the doorway, receiving inquisitive stares. "I've had to put something on it to stop the birds eating away my home. It's very poisonous."

Their faces fell. Hansel dropped the hunk of white chocolate he had pulled from the window sill.

"Don't you worry, my dears." she added in a softer voice. "There's plenty more inside - things that won't make your belly ache. Come, come in."

They followed eagerly - even Gretel seemed to have become cheerful at the prospect of food. They were not disappointed.

The furniture inside the house appeared to be made of normal materials - wooden chairs with soft cotton cushions and a finely carved table in one corner, a large kitchen table and enormous metal oven in another - but hundreds of shelves lined the walls, and each was laden with thousands of jars of sweets. Rock and liquorice, marshmallows and jawbreakers, fruit pips and sherbets - it seemed to the children that every sweet in the world was to be found somewhere in those jars.

"Help yourselves, children." the old woman told them, waving a hand at the jars. "I'll make you up a pair of beds in the meantime."

"Thank you ma'am!" Hansel burbled through a mouthful of spongy marshmallow. His sister nodded her thanks eagerly, the enormous gobstopper in her mouth too large to speak around.

Soon their empty stomachs were filled, and for the first time in weeks the gnawing ache that had taken root in their stomachs disappeared.

"I've never seen a child eat so much so quickly." observed the old woman with a good-hearted smile.

"We haven't eaten properly for weeks, ma'am." Hansel told her. "We have meals, but they're never enough."

"You poor creatures!" exclaimed the woman sympathetically. "It's heartbreaking, thinking that children like yourselves are starving just a few miles from my door." With that, she disappeared through a doorway into one of the back rooms. Hansel turned to his sister.

"This is a brilliant turn of luck, isn't it?"

Gretel stared back at him. Her smile had gone once more from her lips and she regarded him coldly.

"I don't trust her." she said after a moment. "She wants us for her own sick purposes. We mustn't trust her. Miserly old hag."

"Gretel!" reprimanded her brother. "How can you say such a beastly thing after she's done all this for us?"

"I don't trust her." repeated his sister stubbornly.

"After she's fed you and offered you a bed?"

"Why should she do such a thing for two strangers, if not for some sinister reason?"

"Because she's a nice old lady who feels sorry for us?"

Gretel shook her head but said no more.

* * *

><p>"Here you go. Just call me if you need anything - I'm just in the next room." said the old woman, smiling. Hansel pulled the thick eiderdown over himself more tightly, wrapping himself up in a cocoon of cotton and feathers..<p>

"This really is very kind of you, ma'am." he said, determined to make her realise just how grateful he was. He cast a quick glance at Gretel, and saw that she stared at the woman with narrow eyes. She sat bolt upright in the bed, and the eiderdown lay loosely over her knees. "We really do appreciate it." he added.

"It is a blessing in itself to have children here again. Sleep well, children."

The moment the door was closed, Gretel had leapt out of bed to loom over Hansel.

"Look at you, simpering away." she hissed, jabbing him with one bony finger. "It's sickening. Why do you trust her?"

"Why _don't _you trust her?" he replied with genuine curiosity, "Look at all of this!" He gestured around the room, just visible in the warm glow of the candlelight.

"How naïve are you?" snapped Gretel "What sort of person lets two grubby strangers into their homes just for the sake of it?"

"Any kind person would!"

"Pfft, kindness is a myth! People are selfish, Hansel! They don't care about others!"

"You might not trust anyone, but I do!" he replied angrily. "Go to sleep Gretel. Maybe when you wake up you'll be a little more grateful."

* * *

><p>Weeks passed. Gradually the weather warmed and green growth began to grow on the trees. It was not only plants that grew, however. Gretel's suspicion of the old woman became more prominent every day, but with great effort Hansel managed to keep her cruel remarks and conspiracy theories away from the earshot of the old woman. Still he could not help but feel his spirits lifting, warming with the weather. The pleasure of having three large meals a day - guaranteed! - gave him a sense of safety and warmth that he had never felt before. Every day he thanked the old woman for her seemingly unlimited kindness, and she always replied by saying how glad she was to have children around again.<p>

But one night, as he lay in bed, he heard Gretel rise from where she lay, and walk over to him.

"What is it Gretel?" he asked softly.

"We cannot stay here any longer. I don't trust that old woman. Any day now she's going to move, and then we will be helpless - at her mercy."

"You're paranoid." replied Hansel, turning over to face away from her.

In an instant, her hand was on his arm, fingers pinching his flesh.

"Paranoid?" she snarled, nails biting into his skin even through his flannel nightshirt. "I am not _paranoid_!"

"Let go of me Gretel. I'm sick of you." Hansel said coldly, and pushed her hand away.

He could feel her stare boring into his back, but she did not attack him. After a few minutes, he heard her go back to her own bed. He thought she had gone to sleep, and rolled over. He was surprised to see her eyes, cruel and unforgiving, staring at him from beneath the mound of sheets on her bed.

"You'll regret that." she said softly. "Good night, Hansel. Sleep well."

* * *

><p>He woke up on the rough floorboards. His eiderdown had been pulled off of him, and had been thrown in a corner, feathers spilling from several vicious gashes in its side. The candle was snapped in two, and his pillow had been torn. It bled feathers across the floor, and he became aware of their quills sticking into him sharply. Gretel was silent.<p>

"Gretel!" Hansel hissed.

No response.

He pushed himself up from the floor angrily. Gretel's bed was empty.

"Gretel!" he hissed again, before stumbling towards the door. He was met with a chilling sight.

Gretel stood by the enormous metal oven, door open and flames blazing high, barely contained. The old woman stood before her, her cheerful demeanour gone.

"What are you doing, child?" she asked angrily. "Why are you playing with the oven?"

Hansel felt himself go cold.

"Gretel?" he asked, voice hoarse.

The old woman turned to him.

"What is your sister doing?" she asked "Does she have any idea how dangerously she is acting?"

"I'm so sorry!" Hansel said desperately. "Gretel! Are you out of your mind - close the door! What are you doing?"

Gretel turned to him with cold eyes.

"You might be a fool, Hansel, but I'm not! I won't let this witch use us for her evil deeds!" she spat venomously.

"How dare you?" the old woman gasped "I am no witch! I've been nothing but good to you children!"

"You don't fool me!" screamed Gretel, and with a sudden movement she had darted around the old woman and shoved her viciously forwards. The woman staggered at the force of it, hitting the side of the oven door. She seemed suspended in the air for a second, then she lurched forwards into the oven.

Hansel felt himself cry out with horror, wishing he could drag his eyes from the sight. It seemed impossible to tear them away, however. Hsi heart thundered but his feet would not move. He was utterly paralysed.

The old woman screamed as her hands landed in the flames, blistering on contact. She desperately struggled to push herself out of the oven, but a further push from behind caused her face to join her hands. The pitch of her screams heightened. One final shove and she was entirely in the oven, and Gretel slammed the door behind her. A ghastly parody of a face, blackened with the flesh falling loosely from it, appeared at the window, accompanied a haunting wail. She pounded against the door with charred fists, screaming in agony.

Gretel pressed her hands on either side of the oven door, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the metal was burning hot. She laughed in the woman's burning face, then stretched out her mouth to mock the old woman's screams.

"Burn, hag!" she screeched at the oven, triumphant.

Then her face changed and she quietened, walking to the corner. It was as though she had suddenly become someone else, someone entirely lacking in emotions with only one aim in life. Purposefully, she moved to stand by the wall next to the oven. There, there hung a rack, and hooked on it were several large knives. She chose the largest of these - one with a serrated edge and wickedly sharp tip- before turning to her brother.

"Gretel, what have you done?" Hansel whimpered, eyes still fixed on the oven. The old woman had slipped down, out of sight, and her screams had ceased. His face was pale, his expression one of horror.

"It's a harsh world, Hansel!" she announced, with that unnerving, emotionless expression on her face.

"You didn't have to murder her." he whispered.

She gave a small smile. "Oh, but I did. The world is cruel to people like us. We have to focus our priorities."

Hansel gave a nervous laugh. Never before had he feared his sister quite like he did now. Now he treated her as he would a starving wolf, humouring her in the hope that she would be merciful.

"Yes, and our priority is to get back home. Right?" he asked somewhat hesitantly.

Gretel laughed mirthlessly, long and slow. It made shivers prickle their way up Hansel's back, reaching the nape of his neck and freezing there like droplets of ice.

"Don't be such a fool, brother." she sneered. "We don't need them. We need no one." She paused. "_I_ need no one!"

"Gretel…Gretel, what - what are you saying?" Hansel stammered. "Why-why don't we have something to eat and then...start on our way back home?"

Her face contorted into a mask of disgust and extreme hatred. She shook her head viciously. "_Never_ again will I go willingly to that little shack - unless I go to impale our father's head on a spike!" his sister snarled. "But…" She paused, and a strange smile stretched across her face. "I will have something to eat first. It seems so wasteful to ignore what the old hag had spent so long preparing. She did feed you up very nicely…" she said softly.

Hansel froze.

"You're not implying…"

"Oh I am. I most certainly am, dear brother." she said, her voice unnervingly calm. "Now, hold still."

In a blur of movement, she had lunged for him, fists and feet and nails and teeth. He fought back as well as he could - but he had forgotten the knife Gretel held in her hand.

There was a flash of silver and suddenly his arm was burning, searing red hot. He screamed in pain and fell to the floor, when the silver flashed again and the burning seared up his leg. The impact of his head on the floor left his vision clouded, but through the spots of black he saw Gretel raising the carving knife again.

"No Gretel!" he screamed as it came down.

The pain ripped through his chest, and suddenly his torso was soaked with a thick, warm liquid. His feet were suddenly seized by small hands, and he felt himself dragged across the floor. A sob of something resembling a plea for mercy broke through his lips, but it went ignored.

His last sight before the blackness consumed his vision entirely was of the oven door, opened and waiting.


End file.
